


Song of Death

by AquilaCreed



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: F/M, Live Forever or Die Trying, myth
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-22
Packaged: 2018-04-05 12:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4179396
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AquilaCreed/pseuds/AquilaCreed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zikaron, god of Death, is drawn to realm of men.<br/>After he has hid in his realm for far too long, he is intrigued by new creation that was something unlike anything he had ever seen. First god he encounters there was Nokem, who would rather kill him than engage in conversation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enter Death

**Author's Note:**

  * For [King of Novices (mykonos)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mykonos/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Live Forever, or Die Trying](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2600771) by [King of Novices (mykonos)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mykonos/pseuds/King%20of%20Novices). 



> This is Zikaron's part of the myth from Live Forever or Die trying. It was written and uploaded with permission of King of Novices.  
> For now, it will consist of three chapters.
> 
> (First chapter has been reuploaded from my old account; all further chapters will be here)

It was an empty realm, one in which Zikaron decided to dwelled; it was his fortress of solitude, inhabited but with shadows and dust. This, his eternal domain, provided him with comfort, with precious solitude, detached from the rest of realms it allowed him to contemplate in this void.

He was entity of ancient times, times when immortal flesh was sawn, when it was stretched and shaped into what are now considered gods. He was one of them, one of the ancient gods, but long forgotten, long hidden, escaping the trivialities of the beginning.

 

Zikaron was well aware of other realms, realms where water ran free, where wind would spread leaves across the fields, realms where blue skies and green grass coloured the horizon. But these things were not that what called to him, it was not somewhere he belonged, and there was nothing for him, nothing to occupy his wonder for long enough. Even his very being did not belong in those realm; he was but an apparition in those worlds; depriving them of colour and making him an outcast. He chose his fate amongst the shadows, amongst that which is hidden, amongst the mysteries that were long forgotten to rest of realms.

 

Shadows that were exiled there, they were same as him; entities that did not fit in original design. They were not entities of beauty, flow, and melody; they were apparitions that were plaguing this world and for this they must be hidden. But they were not what they seemed to be, they were not monsters that rest of the world should tremble upon the very notion of their name, they were part of the world, just like sun, just like air, just like land.

 

How could the world call itself balanced when it knows no darkness; wouldn’t light be brighter if there was something to obscure it? Wouldn’t felicity be more joyful if there was sorrow? Wouldn’t life be more appreciated if it could end? Those were questions that Zikaron wanted answered, they seemed like important part of this world, but no one agreed with those views, no one wanted to accept them and see them for what they aspire to bring.

So he hid himself, he retreated to where he would not be ignored, pushed aside. And he was long forgotten, unplaced, and his name was never mentioned again, left with him to become dust.

 

***

 

After an eternity spent in void, there was something tugging on Zikaron, tugging at his senses, mesmerizing him in a way he has forgotten, feeling he somehow misplaced or ignored for far too long. There was something calling him through this oblivion that he made into his resting place; and so he awoke from his slumber, from this trance he called tranquillity, and he started to follow the call, following its strings.

 

This calling came from some realm too far from his mind, realm he was not able to identify, it was place far away from his memory. So his search begun; so he opened the passage of his realm, the ancient doors locked eons ago. The flames spat at him as the passage opened itself in front of him, flames of war that were, no doubt, doings of his brethren; caused by very disputes he tried to avoid so desperately. This pitifully display was at his doors, they dared to soli his grounds, grounds that were supposed to be sanctuary from their destruction.

 

This display appalled him, and called for anger in him that was absent for so long, resting dormant. If his journey must begin with this, he will arm himself with the knowledge that was bestowed upon him by mysteries that had the good fortune to be shoved his way, by eternity spent in dark and shadow, by secrets of plane he called his own. He was the master of these shadows, fog, deception, and truth, one complementing another.

With the gentle move of his wrist, dark fog, ashes and dust, rose from the ground, enveloping the flames, silencing them, pushing them, and defeating their existence; the path ahead was now clear, leaving only destruction of once prosper land.

 

“And they called me afreet.” A deep sound of his voice echoed now empty halls of this place. His movements were graceful, as if he was flowing; no step was felt or seen, he was apparition followed by endless fog that obeyed his every command. He would not search these ruins, there was nothing to be sensed here, except of dust of destruction he was far too familiar with.

 

On his wandering, he came across new realms, those designed by someone who came to existence after him. He did not recognise those designs, foreign structures and life, if it could be called as such; but there was nothing calling for him, prying his interest. There were realms filled with colours he never taught possible, play of light and shadow, allowing everything to be experienced, seen, heard, touched.

There were realms that were only sound, and they played with your direction and balance in the most pleasurable way. Then there were realms of darkness, vaster and darker than any of his realms; even he was reserved to exploring what they wanted to offer, for this darkens was beyond any abyss or void of his design.

 

However informative, this search seemed like futile attempt at reawakening his spirit. He desired something new, something that would occupy him for long enough that he might forget solitude that, until then, seemed like welcomed affair. Desperate to rest for a while, he journeyed to one of his realm, one he has not visited for a long time. Talons of his gauntlet travelled across familiar rocks that were desolate in his absence. He knew this place well, this was the place he enjoyed walking through, his place of wander; there was a low mist that would dance at his feet as he walked, creating shapes of his path.

 

In the middle of this plane, there was alcove; a place where he would stand and observe changes and stillness, calmness of this realm. His habit guided his way there, only to find something out of place; there was a pale light where there should be dark. It was a globe of golden glow that attracted Zikaron’s attention; golden glow that seemed like a careless child off to explore the world. So he stood there, still in darkness, still hidden, and observed this strange being. It flew from one corner to another, swirling in the air, leaving a trail of gold as it went; this creature was exploring. But it stopped, suddenly and without warning; gesture that it made seemed almost like it turned to Zikaron, almost as if it was watching him. He stepped out of the darkness, mist lifted as he stride.

 

“You are a curious little glow. I did not mean to disturb your play.” It was at polite distance that he decided to make a stop. The creature, this entity, could now see him, all save for his face. This essence no longer resembled a golden orb from which there was a fire like glow, it now took a shape, a shape that was standing on two legs and with two horns stretching around its head. The shape pranced its way to Zikaron, golden eyes staring at his, trying to see his face. Upon failed attempt, it tried to remove the hood that was adorning his head; yet another failed attempt as its hands passed through him like fog.

“You will not be able to do this, not without my permission.” The shape lowered its form so that its legs were now in level with the ground, no longer trying to see Zikaron’s true face.

 

“Tell me creature; who are you?” Zikaron was fascinated with this entity, how it’s will formed it’s shape, how it gently circled him, inspecting him with the same eyes he was inspecting it. But the entity did not respond, it could not; the gift of speech was taken from it. The inquisitive eyes turned to sadness and desperation upon realising this; he is denied to retell his story, he is denied his past.

 

Zikaron understood this, and he tore the creature down the middle with his hand, separating the part of him, disturbing its shape. “This will not harm you, but it will allow me to see who you were, and what you now are.” Golden part that was now flicking in his hand did nothing to damage it, and the shape from moment before was reinstated; it had its inquisitive nature back, sitting itself on the ground while observing what Zikaron did.

 

The golden flicker was held in his hand before his face – still covered with hood, still unseen – as his head moved from left to right, almost like reading, he begun to understand this creature. Except that it was no longer a creature, it was essence of something once great, something that had potential to become more that it was. And there was a name “You were called… Hiba?” bright glow burst out of the essence as Zikaron said its name; it was now standing, clinging to the arm, trying to read his past for himself.

 

“I am afraid you will not be able to see what I see little one. Although your eyes seem divine, it cannot see what mine can.” He held his hand to essence called Hiba, offered his part back to him. But the essence gently refused, almost like saying _I wish you to have it, kind stranger_. “As you were in life, so you are in death; your kindness goes beyond my understanding.” He folds his hand into his chest and in an instant, it is gone; disappeared into him.

 

“Come, little Hiba, walk with me across this realm, let me hear your story.” And the voice returned to the essence, it was able to retell his story. But only to Zikaron, only to this vision of death who held a precious part of him, and who seemed to treasure this.

 

***

 

Long time they spent together, Hiba and him, long time filled with stories that Hiba was more than delighted to share. And this changed Zikaron; the realm he intrusted to Hiba was no longer a place of darkness and void, shadow and dust, it was now bright – as such a place can be – and the feel of it was different than what Zikaron was used to. Because of Hiba, there were now trees, flowers and grass adorning this plane; alcove that was once bare was now intertwined with vine growing with long flowers. It was not before Zikaron heard every story Hiba had to tell, that he decided to see realm of Hiba’s past for himself.

 

It did not take long for Zikaron to find the realm, it was too familiar to him now that Hiba brought it closer to his understanding, but there was still something to this place. And he realised it; he was there once before, in ancient times; he saw this realm bare, without beautiful sights that he could behold now. So times do change; not just by rage of conflict, but by a gentle touch as well.

 

He did not have to roam for long before something caught his attention, something new to him, something he has never sensed before. Slowly he walked in direction of this new experience, and as he got closer to its origin, structures begun to slowly rise to meet him; and amongst them he saw something that was walking, standing, running, conversing. These creatures held both something familiar to him, as well as something strange; their shape was familiar to him, it was a shape of his brethren, but they were fleeting in their essence, they weren’t consistent.

 

They caught his curiosity and he begun to watch them, observe, study, take an interest into small things this beings, these creatures, did. He found it fascinated how dead flowers would decorate their tables, how things that were mere objects formed by their hands would be this meaningful to them, how bonds between them varied from loved to ignore.

One person would see flowers and be amazed with their beauty; and the toll for this beauty was its life. It’s, once alive, form was now brought to one of structures they called houses, and the person who was presented with them had expression Zikaron would identify as happiness. Then the same flowers were put in some sort of pot filled with water as to preserve those dead remains of flower for as long as they could.

Things that were manipulated, things from stone, and metal, and other materials were treasured amongst them; but not without certain distinguish that went with every object. So some items were there to be treasures, looked upon but not used; breaking them would bring a sad feeling to these beings. But if things they used daily were to be destroyed, the mundane things, they would simply dispose of them without even taking a notice of what happened.

They even treated each other differently; some they choose to love, to hold close, to cherish moments spend with each other. The essence he found within these beings was similar to one Hiba carried with him; feeling of freedom and felicity. For others it was solitude that was what they wanted, time spend with oneself was what they found worth feeling (not unlike something he did, and he understood this well). Then there were those that wanted someone that would be theirs, that would treasure their bond as much as they would; but some of those beings were left ignored by others, and their essence was dark and empty. The contrast that arose within each person – even the same feeling was interpreted differently within each individual – was drawing him more to these beings; he had to stay his hand - unlike when he touched Hiba’s essence - stay it so he could observe them more, so they would stay unaware of his presence for a bit longer, so he could learn more.

 

Thing that fascinated him in equal, if not greater, measure was the way they communicated. He was not interested in language that they were speaking - for every creature has its way of words - but the silent things that were meaningful to them, the unspoken truths. Communication that was not verbal was what intrigued him; look of the eyes, touch of hand, simple brush of skin could convey meaning he did not understand. And he was so drawn to this, these fragile beings, so far from his understanding. Even the same action performed by two different beings were not the same, even the way it was seen was not the same; they acted and observed each other in unique ways he was unable to explain.

 

What allowed him to observe these creatures was that he, to a mere mortal, seemed like nothing; a dark shadow in the corner of the eye, gone as soon as they would dare turn their gaze in his direction.  He could blend in their surroundings without them being aware of anything; only a few individuals had the good (bad) fortune to see his true self, if only for a second. Individuals that possessed this power would not hold to their life for much longer; only the dying can see death. He will soon gather their essence; just as he found Hiba, he would find them.

 

But someone was watching him, following his movements, his path; although aware of this, Zikaron ignored another presence and allowed himself to only care for that of these creatures.

Nokem was the one that was keeping his eyes on him; a shadow so close to his creations. The way everyone continue to act as if it were but a regular day, showed him that this shadow was unseen by mortal eyes. Unlike the new visitor, Nokem was more than obvious sight to them; he would stay outside their reach for a bit longer, observing this shadow, this ominous presence. There will be time that shadow will be caught alone, unaware, and that is when he will act.

 

***

 

As the time passed, the behaviour of these creatures begun to shift. Beings that were so active begun to retreat in, what they called, houses; structures they created from different materials in different ways. Each house was unique in its form and function, reflecting its owner and his purpose. Once inside, they would do a little ritual that seemed to be a prelude for something.

 

Ritual begun with water; they would wash themselves – some standing and some laying – cleaning themselves of today’s scent and trace. After their bodies were clean, it would be wrapped in a garment; different from the one they wore during the day, different in its function and form. While during the day, clothes they would wear would consist of several parts (often made of different materials), now they wore simple, plane, clothes consisting of one or two parts.

Upon ending this ritual, they would lay on something, soft from what Zikaron could tell, and they would become motionless; moving only to inhale a breath.

 

Zikaron could, with ease, breach trough their walls, or doors; but he did not. This activity was that of peace and quiet, and his presence will not disturb it.

It was time his attention is redirected towards presence that was observing him in the same manner he did with these creatures; but with far different intent. He took a path leading above the village, a rocky climb that was leading to a forest. He was aware of presence that was lurking behind rocks, watching, calculating his movements; and then it suddenly decided to reveal what it was intending to do.

 

Nokem leaped, pointing his spear towards this apparition, hoping that he would take it down with one strike. His aim was perfect, his form immaculate, tip of the spear was heading directly at place he presumed was the heart; but the result of this attack was not what he expected.

Zikaron changed his form, turning from matter into dust, fog, which could not be touched, pierced, or harmed. He circled in this form, inspecting Nokem, understanding his intentions.

“Show yourself!” Nokem would not stand for this, he was not here to be displayed, and it was heard from his commanding voice. “I know you are the one lurking amongst my people, I seen your form. What are you?” he attempted to secure his position, trying to find a form that would allow him to foretell the direction of possible attack. But he was surrounded, no spot left unchecked, and he was left to decide for himself from where he could fend himself better.

 

And the dust was still for a moment, no longer circling, no longer examining, as if pondering on his words; and it stirred again, almost like imploding to a certain spot, forming a hood, and arms that stretched before Nokem, threatening him with its talons. But they would never touch him, they would never draw his blood; they were there to show him that he should not fear them, that they were hiding nothing.

“So it is you, Eldest. You have grown.” upon uttering those words, Zikaron’s body was in his original form, tips of his talons intertwined in observation of Nokem. “I did not expect to find you so soon.” He tilts his head, comparing the two. Brothers were alike, in a way, but their contrast was far more noticeable; they were like day and night, light and dark – contrasting each other and complementing each other existences in perfect unity.

 

“Of what do you speak spectre? Identify yourself! How do you know of me?” Nokem’s mind was a cluster of questions, and those were lucky enough to escape with his breath. Presence of this apparition disturbed him, and now it seems that he knows more of him, more than Nokem is willing to accept. Commanding sound of his voice was followed by the tip of his spear, pointed at apparition’s neck, standing ready to be bend to Nokem’s will.

 

“Yes, you are same. Both of golden sight.” Words are said, but their meaning was meant for Zikaron himself; Nokem was there only to hear them, and to understand on his own volition.

“Answer me!” he did not understand Zikaron’s words, not on a conscious level, he refused to think what his mind knew deep down.

 

“I am one that is long forgotten.” There was a pause before he answered Nokem, for what answer could he give him? He himself was hidden for, what seemed as, an eternity, forgotten by his brethren, his name erased from everyone’s lips; how can he explain that which does not exist?

 

“This tells me nothing. How can I know that which is forgotten?” his patience is running thin; instead of answers he hears riddles. And his spear rushes forward a few inches, but Zikaron does not give ground.

 

“You do not. But you did ask to identify myself. This is closest explanation I can offer.”

 

“And if you are long forgotten, how is it you know me?”

 

“I have seen you grow; I have seen you play with your brother; I have seen your pain; and now I see pain in you, but deeper, intense, more profound.” He saw more, far more that Nokem knew; but this was not important in this moment. “You are the dark, just as he is the light.” More words meant for Zikaron alone; but Nokem did hear them, and those words sounded like plague upon his mind.

 

“My brother? How long has your presence disturbed this place!” grip on his spear renewed, tightened in expectation of the answer.

 

“My presence barely touched this realm.” Calmness with which Zikaron stood and answered questions was in equal measure astounding and intolerable; how can he retain his composure, how can he answer with such an ease and brush every answer off with riddles and words that are not directed at Nokem.

 

“You just came? And what were you doing amongst my people?” this question he wanted answered first; they were all he had now, and he will not allow anyone to take them.

 

“Your people? Those fragile creatures I encountered and observed are of your conjuring?” there was a certain curiousness to his tone, differencing these words from ones spoken before.

 

“Yes.” Nokem’s grip on the spear was not as firm, its form was no longer perfect, and the tip was pointed lower and to the side – no longer aiming for the neck of apparition.

 

“And what do you call them?”

 

“Humans.”

 

“And is this frailty a flaw in your design?”

 

“What do you mean?” his spear begun to drop, completely missing its mark; this is not a threat Nokem expected. He seemed more like a wondering passer-by, a wondering shade, than someone that would endanger his creation.

 

“They are mortal, this I can sense. Their time is short, limited; their life span is but a humble fracture of time I have existed. Did you mean to make them as they are?”

 

“I did not give this a taught. But I cannot make them immortal, nothing can.” Spear was now resting at his side; this was no longer a conversation of two confronted sides. This was a jaunty exchange of words between two entities, who happened to cross each other’s path.

 

“I see. So the ways of old have gone from this world.” A slight decline of his head revealed that he was reminiscing about something; his past, events that happened before, and this seemed to leave a scar on him.

 

“And how old those ways are supposed to be?”

 

“If I need to explain, they are far older than you.”

 

“So you are immortal?” if he is as old as he claims to be, this is only logical conclusion for Nokem to make; he must be one of the gods that came to be before him.

 

“I am immortal, and more.” Another riddle thrown at Nokem’s face.

 

“Explain yourself.” This is becoming tiresome.

 

“Even that which is immortal can be killed; but I could never be harmed, my body never did rot. Only conclusion is that I cannot die, just as I cannot be killed.”

 

“And what do I call you?”

 

“Once there was a time I had a name. Like me, it is also long forgotten.” Nokem’s face showed that he was drawing last straws of his patience. “But you may call me Zikaron.” This memory was given to him by Hiba; essence that, much like Nokem, wanted a name that he can relate to the spectre that was enjoying his stories with such zest.

 

“I imagine you to be a god, if you are this ancient.”

 

“I am no god; I have nothing I protect, I have nothing that seeks my blessing nor my aid.”

 

“Nothing? You must be a god of death than.”

 

“Hmm…” he gave this notion a taught. “You… might be right. So I am Death.” He gave a humble bow with arms stretched, in respect of his newly acquired introduction.

 

“So tell me, death; do I hold your favour?”

 

“You have…” his gaze briefly fled towards humans “…my interest. I find these humans…” his gaze directed back at Nokem, in search of his agreement “…fascinating. Although they life is a fleeting thing, they do not worry, they seem happy and content with their choices. And rituals they have created are most interesting. Will you allow me to observe them?”

 

“If you swear your allegiance to me.” Nokem stood tall in his request. He was aware what he was asking of Death, he knew he needs to stand his ground.

 

“I swear allegiance only to myself.”

 

“Then you do not have my permission.” After uttering those words, whole atmosphere changed; two of them became enveloped in fog, completely obscuring their line of vision, hiding them from their surroundings. However dark Zikaron’s presence seemed before this, his demeanour at this moment was something Nokem did not count with; this darkness, tension of this moment. He knows nothing of this apparition save for its name.

 

“If you truly think this is something I need to ask permission for, you are sadly mistaken, Elder of Two.” He now stood taller than Nokem, hoisted above him like vulture looking at its prey. “I can come and go as I desire, I need not permission!” something was stuck in Nokem’s throat, trying to escape, trying to break him; but at same time was not allowed to. “This request was made for the respect of that which became important to me!” upon finishing his explanation, everything became still. There was no pressure in Nokem’s throat, the fog settled and Zikaron was once again standing in Nokem’s height; his message was relayed and he no longer needs to display his might.

 

“If you are here, and will remain here, you will inevitably be forced to choose a side.” Nokem turned his back to this apparition of Death, intending to leave. He forfeits this conversation in apparition’s favour. “You are free to do as you wish, as long as your visit remains a quiet one. If anyone is harmed by your hand, I swear I will find a way to pull you down and end your existence.” With those words he left.

 

“Farwell for now, Elder of Two.”

 


	2. Enter Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is some gore here, be warned!

The day was long, longer than Zikaron wanted it to be. His observation was disturbed by the realisation that there are people whose faith is not clear to him, fate that refuses to reveal itself to him. He followed those two people, two people whose faith remained an enigma for him. He tried to understand how and why; how can he remove the obscurity over their faiths, and why is he denied the sight of it. Those questions haunted him, ate away at him, they took away his composure and he decided that he would forfeit this day to them; he will no longer question their faiths. Tomorrow, maybe, it will reveal the truth to him; tomorrow he will look for it again.

 

Zikaron was taking a small road, unnoticeable to humans, which would take him to a small rocky plane just above their village. It was a desolate place, on the border of sharp mountains that were reigned by Ga’ash, and green forest that was under protection of Ya’ar. He refused to share the mountain with such a god, and he knew that his presence was not wanted in the forest. He spent his time there among the rocks, in silent wonder over humans, their customs, and smoke that rose from their homes while they slept.

His ascendance was closely monitored by another, Sheker, dragon goddess of the wind and sky. He was aware of her presence, of her close eye and careful movements. She was watching him, his movements, and his stance, completely oblivious that her presence is known. She was a graceful presence in the sky, barely needing to put any effort in the way she dominated the sky, gliding through the wind, bending her body to desired form.

 

After Sheker inspected road and decided which is the most likely direction Zikaron would take while approaching his little place of land, she landed on a small cliff that was high enough for her to feel comfortable, but low enough to be seen with ease. Her descending was followed with impressive air weave that would announce her presence to everyone close enough to notice.

 

Her body turned from dragon to closely resembling human form, hoisting her body from four legged crouch to fully upward stance. Although she now possessed the skin of a human, parts of her body were still shielded by her armour, her scales.  Her arms revealed skin only on the inner side of her upper arm, while her forearm was still covered with heavy scales ending with deterrent claws. Her legs showed similar pattern of skin and scales distribution; her thighs were blessed with a few areas of soft skin, while her lover leg was wrapped with same scales ending with same vicious claws. Hull of her body has strategically places scales that revealed enough skin to make humans ignore threatening presence on the end of her extremities. Her head was adorned with two pairs of horns, stretching backwards giving her somewhat regal and intimating look, and her cheeks had signs of scales that did not seem as rough as the rest on her skin. Alongside the horns there was red-red hair, which seemed to stretch forever, coating her body, rocking gently in the wind, hypnotising like weaves.

Zikaron was approaching at his own pace, with composure befitting Death and with power in his steps. His attention was directed not at Sheker, but at items she held in her possession. After he saw what was in her grasp, he stopped, straightening his back. Beneath her feet was a sheep and a man, both reeking of blood and death, and in her claws another human, still alive, still terrified with approaching faith, with little fight left in him.

 

“Well, if it isn’t the god of Death himself.” She said as she kicked two carcases to his feet as an offering “How kind of you to come. I have a little present for you.” She scaled the rock, still holding ever weakening man in his claws, not allowing him a moment of chance to escape her.

 

“And what would this present be?” he stood, not moving, and not intending to make acquaintance with this female who so rudely imposed her presence before him, and who so rudely offered this shameful tribute to him.

 

“Is it now obvious? Death for the Death.” Her free hand was stretched, motioning to two carcases that were maimed, almost, beyond recognition. “Do you not revel in destruction that is offered to you? Do you not enjoy death?” the human in her claws was lifted higher, so that he could be seen, so that Zikaron can see his body and observe what is about to unfold before him. “Maybe it is that you prefer to witness the act itself. I am willing to oblige.” And her wings suddenly appeared behind her, folding so that they would accentuate the claws at the tip of them, as she ran them through poor man’s body. One claw piercing through his shoulder and the other through his lungs, with a splash of blood that quickly ran down and covered the man’s body. The scream of pain was the last thing man was able to do before his consciousness left him. Sheker did not stop; she tore at him with his claws again and again. She destroyed his skin, tore it and stripped it off of him. She ripped flesh from bone, savouring the blood that would drip on her face. All that was left of a man was a shadow of one living thing.

 Her wings folded back to nothing, her face displayed satisfaction with the act showing to Zikaron that she revelled in this show of death as well. “Does this not satisfy you?” the corpse (what was left of it), was dropped to his feet.

 

“What in this act should I find satisfactory?” his voice was piercing, his stance lifted, he was judging her deeds, looking at the humans before him. They were men he saw in the village, they were ones whose faith he could not grasp, and now he knew why. He can see what would unfold by nature; he did not see what would unfold with divine touch; not in such proximity of events.

 

“The death! The destruction! The gore! Take your pick! They all belong in your domain.” She was not happy with his reaction. He was supposed to stand in awe of her skill and strength; not judge what she has done. He was supposed to succumb to her charm and her offerings as many before him she lured to her.

 

“You, who are of divine origin, do not comprehend your own deeds. So do not try to understand mine.” Although he was the god of Death, meaningless demise was not something he strived to, or whished upon anyone. His hands were no longer resting at his side, his talon pointed at her in accusation “Your actions caused this destruction; your actions condemned two people to this, your actions spoke with another’s words. But these are not _your_ actions! And as such you cannot understand them.” He knew there was more to her deeds than just a mere showing of ability and unwanted offering, but he did not take kindly to this. He did not want this, and the fact that he is part of this circle that condemned these two people to their fate infuriated him. “You showed me what you wanted, now leave.” He did not move, his talons intertwined in anticipation of her departure.

 

“What is this? A god of Death is appalled by death? Are you sure you are that which you claim to be?” but Zikaron did not respond, there was nothing more to discuss “Fine! Ignore my generous offering!” she scoffed in irritation of this whole event.

 

“No, it is neither yours nor generous. I will not accept that which had its fate forced upon.” The rage in him could not be heard in his voice or seen in his stance, but felt in in the air. “Have you even taught about them? Do you even realise what it is you have done?”

 

“I did what I taught could get me attention of a god! I got my whish since you still stand here, but these are not intended results.” And with those words air became even more ominous with dust rising around them.

 

“If you are not aware that your deeds have a consequence, allow me to demonstrate cruel reality you forced upon others!” his hands parted, stretching away from his body, palms facing the ever darkening sky, and his feet parted with ground. Dust intertwined with fog surrounded them, focusing on corpses drenched with blood and flesh spread in front of him as a display of god’s arrogance. And there was a glow, faint at first but more distinct as Zikaron lifted himself above them with dust raging in a storm around them; and the glow parted with the body, seeping through cracks of bones and skin. Soon, there were two bright blue-green flames hovering over carcases of Sheker’s offering. With a quick motion of his hands, Zikaron dispersed them into nothing, and the flames were lost. He commanded essences to his realm, in care of Hiba, so they would find peace there.

 

“At least I know I am speaking to the right god.” She came closer to him, within arm’s reach. Her lips were traced with her tongue, delighted in the scene of withering essences; if death will not affect him in desired way, maybe she herself will. She can be persuasive, and she is willing to use her own body as offering, to be used as desired. This would not be the first time she would force her way in this manner.

Her arm stretched, claws tracing pitch black armour, trying to force some reaction from him. But as soon as her bare scaled hand touched the metal, a sharp pain ran through her and she stepped back, inspecting her hand for wound. She was a deity and physical pain was not close in her mind; this was unwanted check of reality forced on her senses.

 

“I do not recall allowing you to touch me.” His voice still as sold, his stance still as solid; nothing changed. His resolve to see her depart and be done with her charade was still his primary concern.

 

“Oh, so you are into rough stuff?” she brushed off her injury like nothing. “I can play rough. We could find more secluded place for… further exploration.” She was circling him, tracing him with her claws once again, since it seemed that her claw could withstand to touch the darkness. Her rouse continued, still attempting to fulfil her promise. But Zikaron was aware of this, he knew who sent her and with which intention; as well as other things she would rather keep unknown, to her as well as anyone.

 

“You are playing a game you can’t win, Dragon.”

 

“Oh, you think I can’t win you over? Does this mean you won’t even give me a chance, or do I still get one try?” she was seductive in her performance, and her eyes calling in a way he observed in humans. She tugged on extra part of his red sash, only to find him immovable from his place.

 

“I will not join your cause, Dragon. And you should quit it as well.”

 

“My cause? What do you know of my cause?” and her expression changed, her voice changed, her whole demeanour was suddenly different. “Why should I quit my path when it is guided, blessed and encouraged?” her voice almost a scream, cracking at the end. He did not think that she would break under this one sentence.

 

“I know a great deal, Dragon. And you should heed my warning.”

 

“You are nothing to me!” wings spread behind her back once again, threatening as they cast their shadow down “If you will not join me, I will crush you beneath me like insignificant pawn you are!” her voice filled with empty threats.

 

“You cannot harm me dragon.” He was calm, composed.

 

“Silence!” her wings called forth a terrible wind, cutting its way toward Zikaron. He spread his arms in welcome, he can endure this, this cannot break him.

But Sheker’s wind was strong, it was a creation of a god, and it was forceful in its wake. Zikaron’s robes danced to its will, succumbing to what body rejected; and his hood finally gave in to its sway, falling back and to his sides, baring his head.

 

Upon this sight, Sheker recalled the wind – without being aware that she did, the scene was far from what she has ever witnessed. There was a skull, bare scull with two dark holes for eyes.  A hissing sound filled the silence. Slowly, the bone started to be devoured by flesh, muscles, tendons, and skin; it formed a face, unrealistic scene was unfolding before her eyes. As he felt the shift of a wind, he paused, sensing that something was different, that something has happened, and Sheker’s expression confirmed this. His talons met his newly formed face, encountering fleshy resistance in place where once was mere bone; he felt his face. His body turned to the pond, and he began his slow walk to the pond, because that was his pace, as calm and composed as ever.

 

He observed his strange new reflection; flesh was covering bones familiar to him, upon his head locks of dark-dark black hair, long enough to cover his neck, contrasting his pale complexion, and his eyes as crimson as the robe and more. His hand reached for the surface of water, attempting to touch something that was not there. This was his face, so humanlike, available to express that which he only saw on others. As he shifted his head to inspect it on the rippling surface of water, he traced the new reality of himself. He touched soft cheeks, stern form of his forehead, bulge that was his nose, and he lingered on his lips, parting them as his talons pressed almost through their surface.

 

“Have you never seen your face?” Sheker’s voice was kind, caring, complete contrast to what she was moments before, contrast to the performance she was displaying; those were her sincere words, and her sincere reaction.

 

“How can I see something that was never there?” he no longer looked at his reflection, no longer traced his lips. He was standing facing Sheker; his eyes now clearly piercing her with his gaze. She was standing there, still trying to understand what unfolded before her, still letting his words sink in. She did not notice the blush in her cheeks, and her mind clear of deceitful orders; he was a sight to behold, and she allowed herself to admire his naked face.

 

Sheker did not notice Zikaron moving, she did not notice the closing distance between them, and she did not notice that Zikaron was within her reach. She did notice a hand on her face, talons grazing her scales, intertwining in locks of her long-long hair. She stood there while their lips met, eyes open and in doubt of this reality. Her trance was broken, her previous resolve long gone and forgotten; there was only wonder and desire now.

 

 “Interesting.” Only words that would leave his lips after they parted; his hands still tracing her face, his eyes still observing her reaction, her every motion.

 

“What is?” her words were silent, voice gentle in the moment. How can anyone leave a god of wind this breathless? And she wanted to touch him more, embrace him and seek his forgiveness for her faults.

 

“I have observed this act between humans. I can see how they find it so enticing.” His hands started to slip from Sheker. And as his talons grazed the scales on her cheek, so they would crumble, revealing feathery beauty beneath them. His head tilted in observation of this; she finally revealed what was underneath her armour. He just fixed this hood back in its originally designed position; there was a hissing sound beneath it.

 

Sheker traced her cheek, replacing Zikaron’s hand with her own. She was used to scales on her face, the roughness was so comforting, and she felt safe under them. But this familiar feeling was gone, replaced by soft flutter of something new; it was the same kind of softness she felt the moment they shared something, something she did not understand, for this was new to her. She was never the one to trust, to give in to the moment, to relax in another presence; and this was now changing. She was changing.

 

“Wait!” her hand reached for Zikaron’s, caught on his wrist guard, preventing him from leaving; there was no pain now, detail she failed to notice. Her other hand was stretching for the touch of his soft face, only to find nothing but bones beneath the darkness of the hood. But there was no flinch in her action, no repulsion. Her eyes looked longingly in the darkness beneath his hood “So no one has seen your true face? No one knows of it?” She dared to hope. She dared to dream as her mind was filled with _maybe_.

 

“Except for me and you, none is aware of it.” He did not move, he did not ask for her to remove her hands, he stood there, waiting for her to finish her thought. He was still graceful in his stance and his voice still cold.

 

“Will you promise me you will not show it to anyone? Will you leave it as something that is only between us?” she pulled herself closer to him, her eyes no longer filled with hate and intent to inflict pain. She was just a girl in this moment, allowing herself to hope and be vulnerable.

 

“And what do I get from this promise?” although he is willing to oblige, he will not part with something without anything.

 

“Me...” she removed his hood, once again revealing his newly formed face.

 

“And how do you propose we seal this deal?” his face human once again, with overall neutral expression; but there was a hint of smile at the edges of his lips (unsure if he felt it himself), and there was a bit of curiosity in his eyes slipping to look at hers.

Answer he was given was another kiss, but this one was more intense, more endearing, as she used her tongue over his lips. His decision was to allow her what she was so intent on doing, letting the whole experience sink in, not observing it; his red eyes sealed with the lids.

 

***

Ga’ash was careful, and demanding, and he would accept nothing but perfection. This is why he followed Sheker, and observed her. He needed her to do his bidding, to entice Zikaron into their rows. She has revealed to him that she has made a substantial progress, and that Zikaron is willing to meet her every whish. His promise to trust him in her care was empty, he had no intention of leaving things solely in her care.

 

Each time Sheker would leave to meet Zikaron he would observe, he would creep after her, hiding in the shadows of the mountain. And every time they would meet, he would be denied of the truth. Both of them were enveloped in a mist, obscuring his view. He would not wait for the mist to set, he had no patience for such a thing; so he retreated, every time, back to his domain, eager for her return.

 

But one time he decided to stay, to wait and asses the things after they have took place. Their meetings were long, and his patience grew ever so short, but his pride refused to let him leave; he endured this torture. And his reward was a view into something neither of the two was willing to share.

He saw Zikaron, his back, and his dark-dark hair; faceless god had a face, and he trusted it with Sheker. Ga’ash observed as Zikaron’s eyes followed Sheker’s departure with longing (he did not see god’s face, but he did sense that he cared for Sheker). This would be his leverage. This he can use.

 

***

“How fair was your meeting today, my daughter.” They both had young face, neither of them stood out as older or younger one. Yet, he still regarded her as his subordinate, as someone beneath him.

 

“It went pleasantly.” _His daughter_ , she took pride in those words, they meant she was recognised by someone, that she was worthy. But that was before, when she still looked up at Ga’ash with all the admiration she could express. Now there is contempt, malice and will to be free of his presence. She no longer saw him as something she should strive to but an error of this realm.

 

“This is good. He will soon join us.” He placed his hands on her shoulders, much like he used to do before. He is still certain in her loyalty, and her devotion.

He did notice that her body changed, that scales were no longer covering whole of her body, there were feathers, spread across it. There were no scales on her face, hull of her body was a mixture of scales and feathers that spread down her legs; even her wings allowed themselves to show long sharp feathers. Only thing that retained its form were her forearms and her hands; they looked as they always have, strong and threatening.

 

“Yes…” she could not stand to look at him, he was despicable to her. What would she give to turn and run; but this was not an option for now. “This meeting has exhausted me, I will go rest…”

 

“Of course my child.” His hands were no longer holding her by her shoulders. He watched as she retreated to the high cliff; the cliff she would often seek to find her peace.  Her departure was useful to him, now he can leave without her suspiciously watching him.

 

Ga’ash went to seek Zikaron, he knew his weakness now, and he knew what he could use against him. Even though Sheker was his precious asset, he would sacrifice part of her just to get Zikaron’s allegiance. He was Death himself and held powers that gods could succumb to; and because of this he wanted him on his side.

 

Zikaron was not in the village, he was no observing people; Zikaron was in that desolate spot of land he held so dearly. He was still reminiscent of his meeting with Sheker, and he allowed Ga’ash to come too close before sensing him. Upon this realisation, his demeanour changed; he was no longer relaxed apparition staring into the distance, he was alerted god of Death gazing in shadows where Ga’ash took his cover. He knew this presence, he sensed it before, long ago, when the worlds were young. He recognised the stench of deceit, and he hated it.

Ga’ash had no other option but to reveal himself. He stepped out of safety of his hiding place, his black robe separating from the shadow. He was confident in his path, smirking at the Death; he knew what he held in his possession and what he can use against him. Zikaron saw the golden glow of his eye, contrasting to the black one; that was Hiba’s eye, that was missing part that prevented his precious one from finding his peace.

 

“Hello, Death.” Zikaron did not grace him with a reply, he was standing there, waiting for Ga’ash to explain his presence. Ga’ash was not happy with how unwelcomed he was, but he proceeded “I am here to barter with you.” He seemed so indulgent in his words.

 

“You have nothing I want. Leave.”

 

“Are you sure of the truth of your words?”  He dared to step closer in taunt.

 

“Why would my words lie?” he stood firm in his belief.

 

“You care for her.” He saw Zikaron attempting to step towards him, he saw he wanted to strike him at those words “And I have _her_! She is _mine_!” Zikaron’s rage after those words was apparent, in his pose as well as his surroundings; his fists clenched and dust around them disturbed. “Ah, so we do have something to barter with?” his face twisted into a mask of terrifying grin; Ga’ash knew that Zikaron would obey him now.

 

“What do you want?” he tried to find his composure, he tried to calm himself, but to no avail. He was furious to be used in such a way, he was furious _she_ was used in such a way. He wanted nothing else than to rip this despicable essence before him asunder.

 

“I want your allegiance.”

 

“I will bow to no one.”

 

“You will bow to me, or she will pay for your mistake.” A few feathers parted with his hands, gliding down. Zikaron felt chills running down his spine; those feathers were from his love. With a quick motion from his part, dust rose and brought feathers to him.

 

“And why would you want my allegiance?” this is not what he wanted, but taught of allowing Sheker to be used was far more terrifying.

 

“You hold power unlike other gods. I want it at my disposal.”

 

Zikaron took a few moments to reflect on this. He is to offer his abilities in exchange for Sheker’s safety; but in doing so he will stand against everyone. “You will have my answer tomorrow…” he turned his head away, body soon followed.

 

“I do trust it will be a positive one… For _her_ sake.” His robe once again merging with the shadow “Until tomorrow.” And with a weave he was covered in shadow once again.

 

Zikaron waited for his presence to disappear completely before letting his rage take over. He was not easily swayed from his composed self, he was not easily shaken to his core; but this act of selfish desires and threat has left him unable to contain himself. He succumbed to his feet, gripping at his head, unable to process what was happening. His talons were digging deep into fabric of his hood in complete desperation; he did not want to join this fight, he did not want to stand against everyone, he did not want to lose Sheker. The ground shook beneath his troubled form, gripping for some sense in all of this. His love is being used against him, his love is being used to enslave him, his love is being used….

 

Ya’ar was the one that who extended his hand to this god. His presence was soothing in this distressful moment “Do you require aid, my friend.”

 

“I require far more than just help.” The ground no longer shook, he was no longer digging his talons to his hood “You have no reason to call me friend, we have never exchanged words.”

 

“No, but I respected your actions enough to consider you a friend.” He was kind and gentle, his presence reassuring.

 

“I made no actions intended for you.”

 

“But you have made a choice to leave my forest untouched. I extend the same respect in my offer to help.”

 

Zikaron laughed at those words “This is not your fight. I need to go through this alone. Do not involve yourself in this…” he stood up, not as composed as he was, slouched forward and still desperate to find solution.

 

“Tell me what ails you.” He offered Zikaron a friendly walk in his forest, to ease his mind and allow them to talk in the cover of his trees.

 

“Love is what ails me.” His voice shook at those words. He felt the gravity of them as he spoke thim.

 

“I can offer little remedy for love.” He smiled.

 

“Can you offer a relief from suffering?”

 

“Hers or yours?”

 

“Both.” His voice was somewhat gentler than before, with a touch of smile that meant he allowed himself to be relaxed in another’s presence.

 

“Oh, so you share the source of your pain?” Ya’ar saw Ga’ash and his theatrics; he held no love for him and would see him destroyed with an expression of delight painting his face. “Yes, I am aware of what you both are suffering. I cannot provide permanent solution, but I can offer an opportunity.”

 

“Opportunity is far more than I can provide. My attention is yours.” He is willing to do anything to at least try and spare his love from this knowledge.

 

Ya’ar stretched his hand upwards towards the treetops, and one of the trees begun to lower its branch, revealing a green fruit. Ya’ar took the fruit, thanking for this tribute. “I can create a solution, a poison for Ga’ash. Now it will not be strong enough to kill him, but it will weaken him.”

 

“A poison?” the thought never occurred to Zikaron.

 

“Yes. But I must ask… You are able to rip essence from flesh. Why have you not ended this yourself?” yes, Zikaron could rip essence from flesh, he could tear the spirit from his host and send it to his realm; but he did not know what would that mean for Sheker. Death of Ga’ash could mean death of his love, and the risk was far too great to attempt such a thing.

 

“There are… compromising circumstances I do not wish to risk.” He would reveal no more.

 

“So there was a reason.” He rip the fruit in two halves, revealing a golden pit inside. “You will have to be careful with this. It will work only if you make him drink it, just a contact with the skin would have no effect.”

 

“I understand.”

 

“Will you be able to accomplish this?” he gave Zikaron time to think while he mixed the contents of the pit with few other herbs from his pouch.

 

“Maybe there is a way. But I will not know until tomorrow. Will that be too late?”

 

“No. I entrust this in your care.” He handed him a vial with a pale green liquid inside “Remember, he needs to drink it.”

 

“I understand.”

 

***

 

Zikaron was at their meeting place, waiting to see if Sheker would come. He did not know if Ga’ash held her imprisoned somewhere, he did not know if he tortured her, he did not know if she knew anything about what happened yesterday.

His mind was on the brink, he was not himself, and he did not sense the presence of his beloved.

 

“What ails you, my love?” her eyes were worried, her hand reaching for his face. He froze at her touch, he looked at her from the darkness, thankful with every part of his being that she is here. He could not answer her, he barely forced his body to move, to hold her in his embrace. She welcomed him, just as she has welcomed him every day after their first meeting.

 

“Nothing, I have just missed you, my love.” He did not want to trouble her with what he knew, with the realisation that her wellbeing depended on his decisions.

 

“It was but a day.” She offered a gentle smile.

 

“Would you do as I ask you, my love? Without demanding explanation from me?”

 

“If it is in my power, yes.”

 

Zikaron took the vial Ya’ar gave to him. He held it in his talons in front of Sheker “This is poison that will render Ga’ash weak. I need you to give it to him. He must drink it.”

 

“Where did you get this?” she took the vial, inspecting its content.

 

“It was a gift, from Ya’ar.”

 

“I will do this for you, my love. But what do I tell him?” she wanted to remove his hood, reveal his face, but he stopped her. He did not want her to see the worry in his eyes.

 

“Tell him it is a gift from me. Tell him that this will make his immune to my powers, that he will be as impervious as I am.” This lie would do. Ga’ash would not suspect this to be anything but his answer to join him. And since Sheker knew nothing of the plan, he would believe her words.

 

“I will do this. For you.” She held the vial tightly as her body changed from woman to the dragon, and with a sweep of her wings, she was already high in the air.

 

***

 

Sheker was back at Ga’ash’s mountain, looking for the god to give him the vial. Her hand was shaking, and mind wandered aimlessly as she rehearsed in her head what she would say to him. It was a simple enough job, give him the vial with false promises; but how could she just brush it off like that when everything depends on this one moment?

 

“Daughter, back so soon?” there he was, smug in expectance of her answer.

 

“Yes. He did not wish to prolong our meeting. It seemed as he was eager to send you this.” She held the vial up for display, to accompany her words. “He said this was what you desired?”

 

“What is this?” he was too eager to hide his want. His steps were already made way to Sheker and the vial, his greedy hands already freed it from her hold.

 

“He said this will make you like him, impervious.” She was not sure if he saw the dread and the doubt in her eyes, she did not know if he would see through this lie and throw it back at her.

 

“How do I use this concoction?” he ignored her, he ignored everything except the promise this vial held.

 

“He said you needed to drink it...” she barely managed to say the words before Ga’ash opened the vial and consumed most of its contents. The vial was handed back to Sheker, his hands spread in expectation of something great. But there was nothing; nothing except for fire that spread in his guts, fire that would devour every part of him.

 

“Poison… he gave me poison!” and the illusion became reality; Ga’ash fell into their trap so willingly, so easily. It was done. “Sheker, daughter, give me your feather… I need to remove this curse from me.”

 

But she did not want to help, she did not want to undo what Zikaron has managed to orchestrate. So she twisted her body to remove one of the long feathers from her wing; and unseen by Ga’ash’s eyes coat it with the remaining poison. Before she turned around she dipped the feather in the vial, allowing it to be imbibed with the last drops of it. “Here, my father.” She reached it up to him, this pathetic god who was gripping at his throat with open mouth, desperately trying to extract poison “Allow me…” and he was more than willing to spread his mouth wide to allow his most trusted subject to aid him. But Sheker had another thing in mind.

 

She gripped tight to her feather, quill pointed to his mouth. He was not sure what happened until he felt throbbing, piercing pain in his neck. “You… have betrayed me!” the poison was now running through his blood, sealing his fate. “You will pay for your insubordination!” his cloak revealed a dagger from its sleeve. Point of the blade was making its way to Sheker; she did not expect this, her body was not moving, and she would be struck by its blade.

Her eyes closed shut just in time to hear a blunt clanging sound, but there was no pain, there was no warm sensation of blood rushing down her skin. “You shall not touch her!” she knew this voice, it was the voice of her love. And as she opened her eyes she saw him, standing there, his hand wrapped around the dagger. His robes were distorted by the sudden burst of movement, stretching over his flesh and flowing in the air. His form promised nothing but strength and endurance; while he showed nothing but tenderness and daintiness for her, he showed harshness and ruthlessness. Zikaron always possessed enough strength to easily over power Ga’ash, but this demonstration of complete domination did not leave anyone indifferent to his presence.

 

 

Zikaron pushed Ga’ash away, to wallow in his own demise, throwing dagger at his feet. He held Sherek in his embrace as the mist enveloped them both, hid them from plain sight; and they were gone.

 

“I did as you asked.” She seemed exhausted by this scene. Her hearth was racing from the moment she saw Zikaron coming to her aid.

 

“I will never ask anything like this from you. I am sorry for this, my love.” And he held her closer, wanting never to let go.


End file.
